


Regaining Humanity

by littleotter73



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Original Character(s), Pre-Canon, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-23 06:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17677916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleotter73/pseuds/littleotter73
Summary: Drifting after Randall's death and struggling with his own demons, Ripper takes to walking along the Thames. A chance encounter changes everything





	Regaining Humanity

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Many thanks to il_mio_capitano for her help in providing 1970s London with more color, her tireless efforts to push me a little further, and finding the typos (glaring or not) and missed words that I somehow manage to overlook.

Ripper Giles walked at a fierce pace to outdistance himself from his thoughts, his memories, his mistakes. Christ, It had only been a month since the funeral! Randall would have wanted a rowdy, alcohol laden wake. His parents wanted a healthy, compliant son. In the end, there was a proper funeral, followed by the dour and depressing burial with all the proper epithets:  

 

“I am sorry for your loss” and “He was so young and full of promise." “He’s in a better place” and “God called him home.”

 

Ripper wanted to hit lots of things. Possibly throw things out a third storey window and watch them shatter on the pavement below.

 

Randall wasn’t in a better place. A better place would’ve been home, safe, with his perfectly normal middle class father and mother and little sister and her pet rabbit. And God hadn’t called Randall home. If he had, well, then he was just as greedy as the demon Randall had submitted to in order to experience the ultimate high. And maybe He was.

 

It was blasphemy, Ripper knew, raised in the Church of England and a former choir boy, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about a lot of things anymore. He’d seen enough in his young life to not worry about heaven and hell. He lived in the shadows - in the places normal people ignored the existence of. And he never saw the sun. He existed at night like the damned demons his father had gone on and on about along with his so called destiny.

 

By the time he’d gotten back to the squalid flat, he was in no mood to interact with the gang who were partying as though nothing had happened... as though Randall had never existed. Instead, he trudged to his room, slammed the door like he had every night since Randall’s death, removed his jacket and kicked off his boots. Stalking over to the cupboard, Ripper rolled himself a joint, needing to take the edge off his profound irritation.

 

It didn’t help, nothing did. He’d tried harder drugs to keep the harsh reality of what he’d done at bay, but they hadn’t helped, so after one particularly harrowing, nightmare filled night he decided to walk. Walk until he couldn’t anymore. Walk until exhaustion hit and then he could finally fall asleep, maybe for a few hours without the nightmares, without the fear. And so night after night for a week and a half he pounded along the pavements, punishing himself while chasing an elusive, dreamless sleep.

 

After an dismissively brief investigation, the boys in blue had deemed Randall’s death an accident. Ethan had taken care of those details, altered the reality of the carnage with magicks. It had seemed the most humane option for Randall’s parents and had protected the gang against murder charges. And as Ripper continued his search for oblivion… or perhaps it was absolution... he wondered, how _does_ one explain a bacchanal ritual and exorcism gone wrong?

 

_One doesn’t._

 

And he’d gotten away with murder. Okay, manslaughter. He could probably talk himself into self defense if he allowed himself some leeway, but he wouldn’t.

 

The noise from the party intruded his thoughts, irritating his nerves. He stormed out of his room, past the revelers and their willful disregard of responsibility, and back out into the dark, protective veil shadowing London's streets. 

 

After a long night of wandering, he found himself along the Thames in the half light of an early spring dawn in Southwark along the row of abandoned warehouses. As he neared Tower Bridge, he heard the tiniest of whimpers coming from an abandoned sack near the water’s edge and he groaned in frustration as he tamped down his curiosity and compassion. He continued on, but his conscious kicked in after about thirty meters and he yelled out an exasperated “FUCK!” into the the twilight before doubling back towards the sound. Whatever it was, it needed help and he couldn’t just leave it there.

 

Kneeling on the ground, he opened the sack and found four cold and very wet puppies within. Guessing by their size, Ripper thought they might be a couple weeks old. He carefully removed each one from the cloth bag. Three of the pups were already too cold to the touch, lost to the cruelty of man, but the fourth - mostly black and tan with a little white on its tail, toes, and tum - fit in the palm of his hand and whimpered and squirmed with vigor, nuzzling into his skin for warmth. Ripper immediately placed the tiny puppy inside his leather jacket against his chest.

 

“Just until I can get you some real help, mate,” Ripper whispered to the pup shaking against his chest. “I can’t even take care of myself.”

 

He slipped into a newsagents, nicked a pint of milk, and took the puppy to a safe place to try and feed it by dipping his pinky into the cream and dripping the liquid into its mouth. It wasn’t a rousing success, but he felt that the pup had at least gotten some nourishment.

 

He knew it wasn’t enough and that he needed help, and he continued walking until he found a veterinary office. He’d intended to leave the puppy there, but the vet had engaged him in conversation, explaining he didn’t have the staff to give the necessary attention to hand feeding and caring for such a young pup and that in order for it to survive, Ripper would have to tend to the pup round the clock for the next several weeks.

 

Ripper balked. He was in no state to take care of a puppy. He begged the veterinarian to take the dog. It had already survived such a terrible start in life. Finally the vet, taking pity on the troubled young man pleading for the plight of the pup, suggested an alternative. Ripper could tend to it for a couple weeks. The vet would supply him with a medicinal applicator and a list of ingredients to make a formula for feedings, and once the puppy was strong enough, Ripper could take it to the RSPCA. He did warn that the shelter was overcrowded, but if the little dog was older and stronger, his chances would be better. It wouldn’t be easy, but if he wanted the dog to thrive, it was the only solution. Ripper shook his head and swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He was at his wits end. He had no job, no regular source of income to pay for anything. And if he did go out and find one, he wouldn’t have the time to tend to the puppy’s needs around the clock.

 

“Look, just take the supplies and come back in a week so I can see how the puppy is doing,” the vet said sympathetically while passing the young man the sack. “We’ll evaluate his condition from there.”

 

Over the span of several weeks, Ripper tended to the puppy with a single minded focus. He’d watched in awe as his little friend’s eyes opened and its world expanded while it explored his room. It probably wasn’t something he was supposed to do, but he’d slept with the pup curled up on his chest. The little guy settled easier and seemed more content there than in the little box he’d lined with a couple of spare towels.

 

His flatmates were of a different mind when it came to Ripper’s puppy rearing duties. Deirdre had been curious and often visited him in his room, though he wasn’t keen on her intrusion into his little world. Ethan wanted the mongrel gone… or Ripper gone. Animals weren’t part of their agreement. Ripper had told him to sod off, that until the pup was ready to go to a new home, they were both there to stay. Thomas would egg Ethan on, having placed the blame for Randall’s death squarely on Ripper’s shoulders. Philip didn’t seem to care one way or the other - he just wasn’t going to get in the middle of a domestic between his two alpha male flatmates. Things had soured permanently between the two since Randall’s death and he didn’t need to escalate a war.

 

During one of the weekly checkups, the vet asked what the pup was called. Ripper shook his head. He hadn’t named the little guy, referring to the puppy only as him, or boy, or little man. He wasn’t planning on keeping him. He _couldn’t_ keep him. He was only making sure the pup would live and then they could find a home for him.

 

“He still needs a name,” Doctor Everton stated, checking the puppy’s ears

 

Searching his brain for a proper fitting name, he finally answered, “Jack. His name is Jack.”

 

The vet smiled and continued his examination. “You’re a lucky little lad, Jack,” he stated.

 

Ripper left the exam room in a panic and promptly left the building. He’d named the dog. Naming something gives it permanence. It creates a relationship. In giving the dog a name, he’d allowed himself to give it a place in his heart. Before naming the puppy, he’d already been in grave danger of becoming attached to him and at this moment in his life, attachment was the last thing he needed. Several hours passed before he found himself back at the vet’s office. The vet had already closed up shop and was cleaning the surgery.

 

“I uh… I’ve come back for the… uh… dog,” Ripper said upon entering the room.

 

“Jack,” the vet corrected.

 

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he amended, “Yeah, I’ve come for Jack.”

 

The vet smiled and retrieved the puppy from one of the kennels and handed him over to the young man. The puppy immediately snuggled into Ripper’s embrace and licked his chin.

 

“He’s thriving. Keep up the good work.”

 

“Thanks, mate.”

 

As the little dog matured, Ripper and Jack’s routine changed. The pup started to sleep through the night, curled up against his human’s chest, lulled by the steady beat of his heart. Ripper found that sleep had come easier, his fears and regrets were now something that only haunted his waking hours. However, the nocturnal activities of his housemates were steadily becoming an issue. Ripper had become much more diurnal, his mornings consisting of ordering a pot of tea at the corner cafe and reading a library book, Jack beneath the table at his feet. Afterward, he would take the little dog out to the park several streets away to let him get some exercise in the grass and start some rudimentary training. They spent more and more time outside in the day, away from the toxic environment of the flat, with the alcohol and the drugs, and the constant fighting with his flatmates. If he could have gotten away with sleeping in the park, he would have, but the coppers were having a bit of a crackdown and he didn’t need that sort of hassle.

 

At the ten week mark, Ripper brought Jack in for his weekly check-up with Doctor Everton. “I think he’s full beagle," he remarked, placing the pup on the exam table. "And I’ve taught him sit, down, come, heel, and no bite. Oh, and how to howl.”

 

The vet laughed as he pet Jack. “He looks good. I’ll declare him fit for adoption. There’s a local family looking for a puppy. Jack would be perfect for them.”

 

Ripper looked at his furry companion, who was clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving from Doctor Everton. After two months of caring for the pup day and night, there was no way he could let him go. But how could he keep caring for the little guy? His living arrangement was barely tenable, the situation with his flatmates, especially Ethan, was deteriorating day by day with disagreements over the dog, the Eyghon incident, the late night parties, and the lack his contribution to the rent since he wasn’t participating in their gigs and scams anymore. It was all coming to an explosive head. Even Deirdre had turned on him.

 

“I don’t want to give him up,” Ripper uttered at last, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

 

“But?”

 

He felt hopeless and shrugged. “I need a job. I can’t stay where I’ve been staying if I'm to keep him.”

 

“I see.” There was a wealth of understanding in that answer. “Well, I’m looking for someone, if you are so inclined. My receptionist quit and I can use an extra set of hands with some of my more difficult patients and their owners. Jack would be welcome here during the day. The pay isn’t great, but it’s enough to get by with a few occasional extras.”

 

Not wanting to appear too soft, Ripper looked around, pretending to take in the surroundings, as though he hadn’t seen them every week for the last two months. “Yeah, sounds good,” he accepts with the cool air of detachment he certainly didn’t feel.

 

“Excellent. You can start tomorrow. Be here at eight sharp.”

 

By the time Jack was four months old, Rupert had completely changed his situation. He’d rented a room above a garage near the veterinary and his job was going very well. He had Saturday afternoons and Sundays off and would frequently take Jack to the park for training and to play. He felt better, he had dropped the drugs and the booze and had been eating healthier. And chasing after a beagle puppy certainly kept him fit.

 

The advent of summer brought longer visits to the park as Jack grew bigger and stronger. One afternoon, after a long session of training and play, Rupert reclined on a blanket in the grass with his puppy snuggled up asleep against his chest, reading _David Copperfield_ while basking in the sun.

 

“Dickens?” a female voice asked curiously.

 

Rupert looked up from his book at the young brunette who gave him a soft smile and tilted his head to the side. “Just something to read.”

 

“I’d have chosen something less depressing.”

 

“I think it’s all about the journey.”

 

There was a moment of awkwardness before she said, “I’ve seen you here for a couple weeks now, training your dog. He’s a cutie.”

 

Rupert smiled and set the book down. “His name is Jack. He pulls all the girls.”

 

She laughed. “Do you mind if I sit?”

 

“No, please.” He started to make space for her.

 

Placing a hand on his arm, she said, “Don’t move, you’ll wake him.” She sat down on the edge of the blanket. “I’m Angie.”

 

“Rupert,” he answered.

 

They talked until the sun went down, played with Jack after he woke up, and Rupert felt he could tell Angie anything. And he did, well, the edited version anyway: running away from Oxford and his family, from a future envisioned by others that he didn’t want to participate in; his life with the gang that would very likely have resulted in an overdose or incarceration, and how he was living an ordinary life now, happier than he’d been in a long time. She, in turn told him about her life growing up in Manchester, that she was a student at the Royal College of Art, and how isolated she felt in the capital city. In just a few hours, he felt like they’d known each other all their lives, as though she was the little sister he never had, and he hadn’t realized how much he needed that human connection.

 

Seven months after he had found Jack, Rupert sat on a bench in the park. He felt good, almost whole. He slept easy with his best beagle buddy by his side, the nightmares haunting him only on the rarest of occasions. He held an honest job that paid little, but introduced him back into the world, interacting with people and their pets, and he had a real friend in Angie, who cared about _him_ rather than his magic, or the fact that he could hold his own in a brawl, or that he could pick locks and hot wire cars. He’d also finally found his confidence. But things had to change… again.

 

Angie took Jack’s lead from him. “Ready to go?”

 

“I can’t believe I am doing this,” Rupert answered, picking up his duffle bag with one hand and rubbing the back of his neck with the other.

 

“It will be fine. You’ve been talking about it for a while now.”

 

“I know and I’m ready,” he said as they began the walk to the Tube station.

 

Angie gave him a soft smile. “Did you say goodbye to Doctor Everton?”

 

“I did and I promised to write with updates and a photo or two.”

 

“Good.”

 

On the platform at Paddington Station, Angie knelt down to pet Jack, a lanky boy with long legs, much like his human. “Take care of him, alright?” she instructed the pup, and he licked her nose in response.

 

“I best go find my seat. You’ll come visit, yeah?” Rupert asked.

 

“Of course.” She hugged him and kissed his cheek in farewell.

 

The carriage wasn’t crowded and when Rupert found his seat, Jack hopped up onto the one next to his and curled up into a ball to sleep. After settling in, he stroked his puppy’s tawny ears before pulling a book from his jacket pocket to pass the time, but as the train neared closer to the university town, he found his attention shifted towards the scenery out the window. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he took in the surrounding countryside as the sun’s golden rays illuminated the lush, rolling meadows passing by at a clip.

 

At the sound of gentle snuffling, Rupert looked over at his faithful hound and petted his sleek coat. If it hadn’t been for a tiny puppy squirming and struggling for life in that sack along the banks of the Thames, he wasn’t sure where he’d be now. He didn’t really want to contemplate it. Jack had sparked the last glowing ember of humanity within his chest and fanned it into the flame it burned at now. The little dog pushed him to do better, to _be_ better… and maybe that meant embracing his destiny and helping rid the world of demons like Eyghon. And so, he’d decided to give it another go.

 

As the train pulled into the station, Jack excitedly hopped up, his tail wagging, to view the hustle and bustle outside the window while Rupert gathered his things. As they stepped out onto the platform, Giles remembered the angst he’d had the first time he’d come to University. He hadn’t been ready then, he realized, and yet he felt none of that fear and unpreparedness now. He’d faced his demons… figuratively and literally… and he’d come out stronger for it. He knew who was.

 

He’d given himself a few days before the start of classes to get his things sorted and to settle into his new flat. Passing a public phone, he stopped and dug out some change from his pocket. Dialing the number, he waited until he heard the greeting and shut his eyes. “Yeah, Dad? It’s me. I’m back at University.” He listened as his father called for his mother, his smile growing wider when he heard the relief in her voice. It was a brief call, but his parents promised they would come for a visit in a few weeks and they would all catch up then. It would be a hard talk, but a necessary one, and hopefully they would see that he’d come through his struggles finally prepared to take on his destiny.

 

“Come on, lad,” he called to Jack, who looked attentively up at him. “Let’s go home.”

  



End file.
